What's the chance?
by WingedEggGo
Summary: just trying a crossover. nothing special... yet. the winchesters go to england on a case when they find themselve being overanalysed by some strange man
1. A Meeting

Dean Winchester pushed his way to the front of the crowd with the bravado and false confidence it takes to fake being an FBI agent. Sam followed close behind. A simple case, it had seemed, before it had taken them all the way to England. Dean did not like it one bit. There are ways to stop a demon from killing you, but so far, there are no known spells that can keep a plane in the air.

He flashed his badge to a young lady who tried to stop him, expecting to be let through.

"Gary Pihl, FBI, and this is my partner, John Densmore."

The woman stared at them for a second in confusion.

"Are you... american?"

_Shit._

"Yes ma'am, we are. Now if you'll excuse us..."

"Hold on, what is the FBI doing in the UK?"

_Stick to the basics._

"I'm sorry, but we're not at liberty to say. Don't worry, we've got it all under control."

She still looked a little confused, but with a glance at their badges, she motioned them on.

The Winchesters walked past, and exchanged an amused smile. Things were definatly different now that they weren't in America.

Sam was no doubtedly thinking up some lame Wizard of Oz joke (Hey Dean, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore) and Dean was wondering, with a little desperation if the bars had anything other than tea.

They reached the crime scene to find a body, slightly bloodied, lying on the ground.

"Russell Lance, died of suicide, only days after he got accepted as a teller in the local bank. He had a wife, and two kids, and plenty of friends. Doesn't seem like your average suicide type. Plus this is the third suicide with no known motive in this past week. Do you think this is our demon, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "Looks like. Ha, the bastard gave us one hell of a goose chase, but we've got him now."

"Got who now?"

They looked up to see a tall man with curly black hair staring at them, not at all in a friendly way.

"I'm sorry, FBI business. We're not at liberty to say."

The man gave a tiny smile and shook his head.

"That would be all very well, except you are not FBI, are you?2

Dean swore inside his head, but in actuality, he kept his cool.

"Why would you say that?"

The man rolled his eyes.

"Honestly, it doesn't take a genius to figure this one out. Starting with the most obvious, your badges are fake, well done, but fake, you don't carry yourselves in a professional manner when you think no one is looking, your suits are new and stiff looking, suggesting you don't wear them on a regular basis, you too seem to close to be just parteners, so I'm guessing close friend, or family, you walk with a slight limp, showing that you are used to far more comfortable shoes, and the most obvious, what would the FBI be doing in the UK? So no, you are not FBI, brothers, possibly, and you look like you know what you're doing, so journalists, maybe, or private investigators. Also, the taller one is the younger one, obvious, because of the way he looks to you for conformation, and because he's always slightly behind you. did i miss anyting?"

Dean was slightly in shock.

"What..."

Sam's eyes were wide open, partly in shock, partly in admiration.

"How did you do that?"

The man looked even more annoyed than he had before, if that was even possible.

"I _observe. _The facts are all their, if you just look close enough. It was particularly easy with you two. Now, please tell me why you are going around impersonating the government."

Sam laughed.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you."

The mans eyes narrowed.

"Try me."

Sam shot a glance at Dean.

"Sammy..." Dean said warningly.

Sam shook his head. He was begining to get annoyed with this man, who thought he knew everything. He probably couldn't see right past his nose. He was definately the kind of person who wouldn't believe the truth.

"It's a demon. It's been possesing people, using them, and then killing them to stop them from telling anyone what happened. It's trying to hide from us, but we've tracked it down. Now we have to excorcise it before it kills anyone else."

The man immediatly took on an expression of pure boredom.

"Stop wasting my time. Leave now, and I won't tell that you've been sneaking around, impersonating people."

He walked away.

Sam gave Dean a look as if to say _I told you so. _Dean shrugged.

_**Authors note: wanted to try my hand at a crossover. Don't know if this is going anywhere or not, but...**_

_**The winchesters know nothing of England. The Kansas joke i'm actually really proud of, although its probably been way overdone.**_

_**yay an excuse to go research rock bands for aliases yay i hope i didn't make them too obvious. You betcha Dean's into Boston and the Doors xD**_


	2. A new lead?

Sam didn't know who that man was. He'd been quick to critacize them, but he didn't look much like the police either. Maybe he was some sort of private detective. He had been able to read them pretty well, maybe he was some sort of Sherlock Holmes character. Consulting detective. Sam laughed to himself and shook his head. If only.

They were headed back to the motel that they had checked into; Sam to do some research, Dean to sit down in front of the t.v. with a burger and occasionally make non-helpful remarks regarding Sam's research.

This was the closest they'd gotten to the demon in a while. It was a pretty nasty one, but it had been laying low ever since it had discovered that the legendary Winchesters were after it. Or so Dean liked to say.

They reached the motel, and Sam prepared for some extremely boring, mind-numbing research. It wouldn't bother him if Dean decided to help. Wouldn't bother him at all.

-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.- .-..-.-

¨Hey Dean, listen to this."

Dean nodded in Sam's direction to show he was paying attention.

"Super-slueth is dead, suicide of fake genius, fraudulent detective takes his own life. It was on the front page of the newspaper a couple of days ago. I mean, it does say he had a motive, but it's still another suicide in the past week- do you think we should check it out?"

"Seems kinda sad. Even if he was faking, doesn't mean he should kill himself. Whatever, does it say a name?

"No. It does say 'Fake, Sherlock Holmes Dead' but I think that's a metaphor. There is an eyewitness acount though... huh, that's weird."

"What?"

"The eyewitness is a 'Doctor John Watson.'"

Dean looked up.

"As in, Dr. Watson? From that Sherlock movie?"

Sam sighed.

"Dean, the Sherlock Holmes stories were around way longer then that movie. But yes, I see your point. weird coincidence, huh? Should we check it out?"

Dean nodded.

"Okay, as soon as this program is done. Thought it was a bit cheesy at first, but I have to admit, it's got me hooked."

"What show?"

"Uh... I think it called 'Doctor Who' or something. Think the guys actual name is 'The Doctor,' or 'Doctor.' It's kinda confusing."

Sam's eyes lit up.

"Doctor Who? I used to love that show. I've gotta see this."

_**Authors note: looks like this is going to be superwholock after all haha**_

_**sigh**_


	3. Coincedence

Doctor John Watson looked up from his untouched cup of tea when he heard a knock on the door.

For one second, for one irrational second, he thought it was Sherlock, back from some trivial case. But he squashed the hope immediately.

_Sherlock is dead, you idiot. No amount of hoping will ever bring him back. You'll only hurt yourself. _

He sighed, and then grabbed his cane and rose to his feet.

"Who's there?"

His voice sounded hollow.

There was a muffled sound of squabbling outside, and then a voice spoke.

"We're the police. We'd like to talk to you about your friend..."

"I already talked to the police. Hell, I am the police. Was."

"Um, we're very sorry to bother you, but we're from a different unit. We have some special information regardarding your friend..."

"You mean... Sherlock?" John's voice was wary.

"Huh? Oh, uh yeah. Sherlock."

He could hear whispered arguing coming from outside.

_Damn. _He had just told himself not to get his hopes up, but hell if he wasn't going to take every possible chance to see his friend alive again.

He limped over to the door and opened it, revealing two men standing outside.

The taller of the two smiled and stepped forward, offering his hand.

"Hi, I'm agent Densmore, and this is my partner, agent Pihl."

Ignoring the fact that these two weren't police at all, John shook agent Densmore's hand.

"I'm Doctor Watson. Please come in. Would you like some tea?"

Pihl shook his head with a scared look on his face, and Densmore nodded.

"How about a beer for you, agent Pihl?"

The relief in his eyes was clear as he shook his head yes. He motioned for them to sit down, and went to get them their drinks. After everything was settled, he asked them what they came here for.

Densmore sat up.

"Doctor Watson, I'd like you to tell me about your friend."

John smiled, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sighed. Where to begin?

"Sherlock was... he was brilliant to put it mildly. He wasn't a fake, that much I know for sure. He was... amazing. Just one look at you, and he could tell everything about you, where you were from, what you'd done, if you were lying. I... I don't know why he killed himself. It wasn't like him. He's probably the most vain, arrogent person ever. I don't know why he would want everyone to think he was a fake. It seemed like... I don't know, like he was possesed. He just wasn't in character..."

Without meaning to, his voice cracked.

Densmore tried to look sympathetic, and Pihl looked like he was somewhere else completely. Densmore spoke again.

"I understand this may be hard for you, but please bear with me. Now, did your friend have any enemies? Anyone who might want to discredit him, and... kill him?"

John laughed without any feeling. It was almost funny, the amount of enemies Sherlock had.

"Did he have any enemies? Ha, it be easier to say who wasn't his enemy. There was one, though. One that stood out. His name was Moriarty. Jim Moriarty."

Densmore choked on his tea, and even Pihl looked up from his beer.

"Thank... thank you. I, uh, just have one more question. What is...was... Sherlock's last name?"

John had a confused look on his face.

"Uh... Holmes. Why?"

Densmore gave a fake smile.

"Nothing, sorry. Uh, we'll be going now. Sorry to waste your time, and you have our condolences."

John looked up.

"That's it? You don't have anything else to say?"

Pihl shook his head.

"Sorry, that's all. We really should be going now."

The two men left, and closed the door behind them.

_Damn. Why was it that everytime he let his hopes up, they all came crashing down again?_

**_Authors note: Change in POV! haha. _**

**_okay, seriously, I love the Winchesters to death, but they do not make very good police/FBI_**

**_In case you were wondering where they are in each story, Sherlock has just "died" a few days ago (In my theory Sherlock faked his death with the help of the police, which is why he's at the crime scene, and John quit the police afterwards, due to grief), and Sam and Dean are in their fith season. (the demon that they are chasing is one of the seals)_**


	4. Wrong Assumption

"Something's going on here. It's almost as if the characters from the Sherlock Holmes books were being reenacted." Sam bit his lip in frustration. "It looks as if we have something other then the demon to deal with. Another trickster, maybe?"

Sam was talking to himself. Dean was out looking for some pie.

"Apart from that, it looks like this Sherlock is our demon. How else could someone survive a drop that big? For some reason the demon must have wanted to keep the meatsuit afterwards. Dean-"

Sam was jerked out of his thoughts by the sudden realization that Dean was not in the room.

"Dammit, Dean. You and your freaking pie."

-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.- .-..-.-

Dean was not thrilled with this. He wasn't sure if it was England itself that had no pie, or if it was just this particular store that had no pie. Either way, he felt like any moment he might succumb to his strengthening addiction. While he had decided he liked the city itself, he was very against the lack of pie and the ample amounts of tea.

Unsatisfied, he climbed back into his car, and drove back.

He was greeted by a sleeping Sammy, and decided to bitch about the lack of pie in the morning.

-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.- .-..-.-

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam jerked out of sleep with a slight look of panic on his face, although it went away after he had time to take in his surroundings.

"I have come to the conclusion that Sherlock is our demon."

Sam pulled out his well worn bitch-face.

"Right. _You _came to that conclusion."

Dean looked offended.

"C'mon, Sam. I'm much smarter then I look."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sure, okay. Anyway, I think we should check up on him. I don't know where he lives, but he was hanging around the police yesterday, and they didn't seem to be bothered. It's a good bet they know where he lives. Get the holy water, Dean."

Dean nodded.

-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.- 

The police proved unhelpful, but with a couple smoldering glances at the woman at the hospital, and even more assurances that they meant know harm, the were able to get the information that they needed. It turned out that Sherlock matched the book character almost perfectly, despite living in the modern world. He was the world's first consulting detective, his best friend (Dean had scoffed at the thought that he could ever make a friend) was Dr. John Watson, his brother Mycroft Holmes, and his arch-enemy was Moriarty. More relevant was the fact that he lived in 221B Bakers Street. (It is to be noted that they also got a lot of extra information. Such as how Sherlock liked his coffee, how he liked his tea, that he played the violin, the exact colors of his eyes, which apparently were never the same for long, how wonderfully tall he was, how beautiful his hair was, and other things of that nature.) But the Winchesters decidedly tuned out that bit.

After several hours of getting lost, Sam came up with an idea.

"Hey, Dean, why don't we leave the impala at the hotel and take a- Dean? Stop glaring at me. It's for the best. Dean... Dean. Trust me. We don't have a choice."

Dean continued glaring at Sam even though he had been thinking the same thing earlier.

"Fine. But you forfeit your next turn to drive."  
"Dean, you never let me drive."

"Shut up."

-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.-.-..-.- .-..-.-

Several hours after they expected, the cab pulled up in front of 221B bakers street. Alibis ready, they made their way up to the door. They looked at each other, and then Dean knocked.

To his surprise, the tall man they saw earlier did not answer. Instead it was a kind, short lady.

"Hello? May I help you?"

Dean nodded.

"Yes, I'm Agent Pihl, and this is my partner, Agent Densmore. We are looking for a Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

The lady gave a knowing smile.

"Partners, eh? Well don't you worry. We have all sorts in here."

Sam choked.

"No, we're not- that is- not that kind of-"

Dean cut in.

"Is there a Sherlock Holmes here or not?"

The lady frowned.

"Ah... that is... I'm afraid you've come to late. Mr. Holmes passed away recently..."

Sam cleared his throat.

"We've already met him; we know he's alive. We just have a few questions to ask- he's not in trouble- and we'll be on our way. Now, is it true he lives here?"

The lady looked uncertain, but she nodded her head slowly.

"Sherlock! There are some men here to see you!" She called.

There was a faint banging noise from upstairs before a reply echoed down.

"Not now, Ms Hudson. I'm busy, you'll have to send them away."

Ms. Hudson smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, he can come off a bit rude sometimes. Sherlock! It's important!"

"Dammit. Fine, send them up. But tell them to get on with it."

Ms. Hudson gestured at the staircase.

"Right this way, straight up the stairs."

Sam muttered a quick 'thanks' as they climbed up the stair. The reached the top to find a messy flat, covered in papers and books of all sorts. The papers were tacked up on a bulletin board, not unlike a hunters motel room when he was in the middle of a tricky hunt. The man they had met earlier was lying on the couch, staring into space. He didn't seem to notice them.

Dean knocked on the door frame three times. Sherlock didn't glance their way, just gave a quick 'come in' under his breath.

Sam and Dean shared looks. Dean carefully took out his flask of holy water, and started unscrewing the top.

"First thing you do coming into someone's home is take a drink, then?" Sherlock sat up.

Dean jumped and looked guiltily at his flask.

"Sorry, would you like some?"

Sherlock glared at them.

"I don't drink."

Dean gave a sheepish smile.

"Oh, okay. I'll, uh, I'll just drink some myself then, I mean if that's okay with you." He started to inch closer to Sherlock.

"I'll have you know I currently have a weapon on me, and if even the slightest thing seems wrong, Ms Hudson will call the police."

Sam stared at him.

"Uh... what?"

Sherlock sighed.

"You think I haven't noticed your brother moving closer to me? And how tensed up he is- like a snake about to strike? It's obvious he's on the offensive- he wants to attack me."

Dean backed up warily.

"What? Attack? Nah... not me."

Sherlock stood up.

"Leave this house right now. You are a danger. I don't know what it is- hallucinations, paranoia, some form of insanity, but demons don't exist. So go away, stop bothering me."

Dean shook his head.

"I'm sorry, we can't do that. That's exactly what a demon would say- besides, how else could you have survived a fall like that? The poor bastard you possessed is probably long dead by now. Now if you're really not a demon, this won't effect you at all, but if you are, then i'm going to give you hell- literally."

Dean chuckled a little bit, and then nodded at Sam.

"Ready?"

Sam nodded back, and pulled out his demon killing knife. They started closing in on Sherlock, who just stood their, seemingly unconcerned. It wasn't until they were really close that Dean saw Sherlocks hand go for his pocket. Acting fast, Dean threw the holy water at Sherlock. It landed on him with a dull splat, and resulted in a dripping wet man holding a gun pointing right at them.

The Winchesters froze. This man was not a demon, and now he had them with a gun.

Sam was the first to speak.

"Oh, um... sorry? It, uh, it looks like we were mistaken. Sorry. Um, we'll just... leave... now..."

He grabbed Deans sleeve, and they backed out of the door.

"And please, if you come back I'll have to report you to the police. So please don't. It'll save a lot of effort."

**Author's note: ackk I meant season four with the seals, not season five. oops.**

**wonder where this is going, hmm. or if i will have any effort to continue it. wow. and now- sleep. supposedly. i should probably be doing my latin haha**


End file.
